


I will come to you blind

by smaragdbird



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-War, Returning Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 00:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12444936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/pseuds/smaragdbird
Summary: After the war is over and he's free again, there is only one place Farrier wants to return toOr rather one person





	I will come to you blind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jungle_ride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/gifts).



Farrier was released on a rainy day in early June almost five years to the day of his captivity. Technically he had been free for a month already, ever since the Germans surrendered, but there were a lot of soldiers to bring home and the world was in chaos. It had been easier to keep them in the camps and sort them out one by one. 

The food had gotten better once the Americans had arrived though. And when the British had taken over, Farrier had gotten his first cup of tea in five years. The ladies of the WAAF were doing a fine job though, getting everyone one busses and trucks and ships home. Once you actually made it through the queue and got to tell one of them where you wanted to go, you got to leave within two days.

When the WAAF officer asked him where he wanted to go, he could’ve said London. Should’ve said London maybe. But there was nothing – no one waiting for him in London. Even if it hadn’t been as badly destroyed as the Germans had claimed, there had already been nothing there for him before the war.

“Oxton”, he had said instead.

“Where’s that?” She had asked, not the slightest bit fazed that he had named a village she had probably never heard of.

“Berwickshire, just 25 miles south-east of Scotland, has the most beautiful church in the Borders”, he had said exactly as he had heard Collins say it time and again. 

“Scotland then. We’ll get you to Edinburgh and help you further from there.” She hadn’t even commented that he didn’t possess the trace of a Scottish accent.

“Thank you, ma’am”, he had said and that had been that.

/

He was put on a bus with other British soldiers, everyone keen to get home. They talked about their families, about their homes, about the sweethearts they had left behind. Farrier listened but he rarely offered information himself. Five years in the camp had taught him the keep quiet.  
Germany was a ruin, the towns they passed bombed out shells and people on the streets wore grimly determined looks on their faces. These people who had been their enemy, their jailers and now it was all supposed to be over.

Britain was supposed to be a ruin, too. Some of the soldiers who had been captured later than Farrier had talked about the Blitz, about London and evacuations and defiance. He wondered if Scotland had been hit too but none of the soldiers on the bus were Scottish, so he didn’t ask.

When they reached the coast they were shuffled onto different boats, all going to London. Even though it is his home town Farrier had hoped to avoid London. Too many memories there and still no people he cared about. It also means going across the Channel and he had hoped to avoid that, too.

They all rushed onto the decks when Britain came into sight. Some men wept as they saw their home again, a home they had fought and suffered for. A home they had successfully defended. To Farrier home had become a person instead of a place long before the war.

London was a ruin but not as badly hit as the Germans had wanted their prisoners to believe. Not as badly hit as the German towns he had passed on the way here had been. As the Germans had retreated and the bombings had ceased people had started to rebuild.

Some soldiers were met by their families on the docks. Laughter and tears of the best kind because they were home, home and here to stay. The rest of them were brought into large halls, fed with tea and toast before issued tickets to their destinations.

Farrier was put on a train to Edinburgh. Suddenly he was surrounded by Scottish soldiers, some with accents so thick he couldn’t understand a word they were saying and some sounding so similar to Collins that it hurt. Still no one had questioned why an English soldier would want to go to a Scottish village but then he wasn’t the only Englishman on that train.

As the train made its way north the destruction ceased. Fields gave away to sheep pastures and rolling hills became steeper and changed colour. Farrier had never been to Scotland before, only knew it from Collins’ stories about home, a village and a house with a garden and a red wall.

As in London some soldiers were met by their families right at the station. For the first time Farrier wondered how Collins would greet him. If he would greet him at all. There had been no letters and the last time he had seen him Collins had waved at him from the sinking wreck of his plane.

Still he would go to Oxton and then at least he would know.

/

It proved difficult finding a transport going to Oxton. Even in Edinburgh few people had heard of the village and if they had then mainly as the one that had its train station closed years before the war. He was half set on walking there – 25 miles was not that far – when he found a farmer going to Lauder who was willing to take him.

The man, who introduced himself to Farrier as Fraser Campbell, was a dairy farmer near Lauder.

“What brings an Englishman this far north?” He asked, his accent thicker than Collins’ but not so much that Farrier couldn’t understand him. He smiled. “Got a girl here?”

“A friend”, Farrier said, “Got nowhere else to go.”

Fraser nodded as if that was nothing out of the ordinary. “It’s good you lads are coming back. Lots to do.” He threw Farrier a look. “Where did the Krauts get you?”

“Dunkirk.”

“Long time to be gone.”

Farrier nodded. There was nothing he could add to that.

“One of my boys was at Dunkirk, too”, Fraser told him. “Made it out alive only to die in France last year. The other one came back two weeks ago. My wee lass is still in the Auxiliary forces, dealt with the bombings over in Glasgow. Now she’s in France, saying she’ll come back when the rest of the troops are back.” His tone was fond as if he was proud of her but at the same time he was shaking his head as if he disapproved.

“They didn’t tell us Scotland was bombed, too”, Farrier said, surprised.

Fraser laughed. “Of course they didn’t. It’s only Scotland. The English won’t care.” With a look at Farrier’s coat he asked, “You’re RAF?”

Farrier nodded.

“Your friend’s the Collins’ lad then, isn’t he?”

Farrier nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

“He came back same time as my boy. Good lad, got enough medals for an entire battalion. Too bad his parents never got to see him like this.”

“His parents are dead?” Farrier asked, trying not to show how relived he was to hear that Collins was alive and home. To others it would’ve seemed strange if he had come all the way up here without knowing that.

Fraser nodded. “Aye, bad winter got them both in the lungs like a lot of folks around here.”

“I’m sorry.”

There was nothing more of importance being said though Fraser talked about the weather and the state of the roads and how bad the situation with the slums was in Edinburgh. When they stopped at the edge of Lauder, Fraser gave him directions to Oxton and squeezed his shoulder as he said, “You lads look out for each other.”

“Thank you, sir”, Farrier said and shouldered his bag that held nothing but a change of clothes and some toiletries. 

“The least I could do. You did us all a favour, fighting like you did.”

With that they went their separate way, Fraser to the south and Farrier back north. The skies were overcast but here and there he could see a patch of blue sky and it wasn’t raining. It was four and half miles to Oxton and it felt good to stretch his legs a little.

No cars or busses passed him on the way and no people either. Horses were grazing on a field to his right and hedges blocked his view to the left. All he had to do was to follow the road north until he saw houses on his left, Fraser had said, those houses would be Oxton.

Walking like this one could almost forget how much of the world lay in ruin and that the war was still going on, on the other side of the world. He passed a farm house but could see no people there either. It was as if he was the last man on this planet, forgotten in a foreign country, while everyone else had quietly left.

Flowers were growing at the side of the road, white and yellow and purple, and for the first time Farrier doubted his decision to come here. Five years were a long time. He should’ve stayed in London. He should’ve sent a letter or a telegram. He should’ve asked if Collins wanted to see him at all.

Despite his doubts, his steps didn’t falter or slow down. There was nowhere else for him to go.

/

Oxton was nothing more than a handful of houses grouped around the main street with a few roads leading off from it. But it had everything a village needed, that was to say it had a pub, a church and a post office. As a Londoner he felt that even describing it as a village was generous.

Farrier stood by the pub, feeling a little lost when he spotted a house with a red wall facing the street. He hoped it was the right one. It was a nice house with a stone facade and a red door. 

He knocked.

Steps could be heard inside the house and then the door opened and Collins stood in front of him for the first time in five years. He looked older, the lines of his face a little sharper and yet exactly like Farrier remembered him with blue eyes and blonde hair perpetually falling into his face.

Collins stared at him as if he was seeing a ghost, as if he couldn’t believe that Farrier was here, right in front of him.

“Hey”, Farrier said, hoping to break the spell and suddenly Collins’ arms were around him, holding him tight. His own hands found the back of Collins’ shirt as he hid his face in the hollow of Collins’ neck. He smelled like soap and home. It was as if Farrier had been shipwrecked, adrift on the open sea for years only to finally leave the water behind and take his first step on dry land.

Collins’ body was shaking and Farrier could feel his tears as they fell from his cheeks. They held onto each other desperately as if the other would vanish with the wind if they let go. They had been apart longer than they had been together but none of that mattered now.

“I thought...I didn’t know...” Collins didn’t need to finish his sentences as he cried for Farrier to understand him.

“I know”, he said, leaning their foreheads together, his hands cupping Collins’ face. He wanted to kiss him but they were still outside.

Collins wiped the tears from his eyes with one hand, the other one curled around Farrier’s wrist. “Look at me, I’m a mess. Please come in.”

Farrier followed Collins inside. “Do you want – “Collins started to ask but as soon as he had closed the door, Farrier pushed him against it and was kissing him. He tasted like tea and toast and his arms around Farrier’s shoulders pulling him closer felt like all the defence he needed against the world.

“I thought about you constantly”, Farrier said roughly as they separated.

Collins laughed. He laughed and kissed him again and there were fresh tears and more kisses. He took Farrier upstairs to his bedroom and laid him out on the sheets and they learned each other anew in between the tears and the laughter and even more kisses.

“Will you stay?” Collins asked, playing with the strands of hair in the nape of Farrier’s neck.

Farrier raised his head from Collins’ chest until he could look him in the eyes, eyes blue like the sky, like anything he had ever wanted.

“Yes.”


End file.
